


HSWC 2014 Bonus Round 4 Fills

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being Lost, Birthday Party, Break Up, Broken Bones, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Camping, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, College, Computers, Crossdressing, Death, Depression, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gen, High School, Hunters & Hunting, Injury Recovery, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Makeup, Meeting the Parents, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pesterlog, Pirates, Revenge, Revolution, Sad, Secrets, Sharing a Bed, Silly, Sleep, Sports, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 11,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my written fills for the fourth bonus round of the 2014 HSWC. Some of these go into potentially upsetting topics, but relevant warnings for each of the stories are listed in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>    These prompts took the form of tropes, or common recurring literary themes/devices/motifs/cliches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirk♥Tavros: The New Kid At School Crushes On The Popular Jock King Of Campus, Little Knowing The Jock Is Crushing Back

         You don’t like transferring schools, really. It’s not that you’re bad at it, necessarily, or that people dislike you, but it’s exhausting every time you have to find a way to let people know who you are and find your own space in a new social circle, every single time. At least right now, you’re hoping to make it through high school without another move, and you’re torn between wanting to really get it _right_ this time, and being so sick of transferring that you just let yourself blend into the background. In the end, you do stand out a bit, because somehow in a few years you went from being tiny and scrawny to being tall and bulky, and even though you’ve never been able to stick with a sports team for more than a month or two, everyone assumes you’re planning to try out for the football team.  
  
         Football might be interesting, you think, or perhaps you’d have a talent for it, since you seem to have grown into someone shaped like people who play football. You even go so far as to check out one of the returning players’ practices, although you don’t get much further than standing next to the bleachers and watching. You don’t think you’ll do it, though. You stutter when you’re nervous, and you’re extra nervous when you’re trying something new and doing badly at it, and you know, it’s probably better just to find something quieter and more familiar to try making friends. Maybe there’ll be a dungeons and dragons club, like the one you got to join two schools ago. It takes time for people to get to know you, and you think that here, you’ll have even more trouble than usual. You watch the football for a few minutes more, because it’s not at all like soccer or baseball were, and then you go back inside.  
  
         You’re still getting your bearings, and figuring out who you think you can talk to well, so it is a complete shock three days later, when a guy you’ve never met before leans up against the locker next to yours, and drawls, “So, bro. Were you thinking of coming to practice again, or was this a one-time deal?”  
  
         You just stare, because you are _completely_ lost. There’s confused, there’s bewildered, and then there’s you. The guy just grins though and sticks out a hand. “Dirk Strider, football varsity captain.”  
  
         Oh. _Oh._ You do suppose, that from a certain point of view, you might be regarded as having met him. In a sense, where you were in an area where he was, and he remembers you, but, you don’t exactly recall who he was, and as you’re stammering something to that effect, you realize just how dumb you’re sounding. That just makes you stutter worse, of course, and you can feel yourself starting to flush with the embarrassment.  
  
         Dirk is relaxed, though. He just nods along, waiting patiently for you to talk, and not finishing your sentences, which is a thing you definitely appreciate. Once your reply just sort of trails off into silence, he says, “Were you thinking of trying out for the team?” He looks you up and down, and uh. That makes you blush for entirely different reasons. “I think you’d be a good fit.”  
  
         “I’m—I. Haven’t really played, uh. Football. I think it’s likely, that, um, I wouldn’t actually be needed at tryouts. Having no experience, in that sport.”  
  
         He shrugs, just barely twitching one shoulder. “It’s chill if you’re not interested. But just between you and me, man, our team’s a little lacking in players this year. Especially our defensive line. If that sounds like something you might want to give a chance, I could show you the ropes before tryouts start next week.”  
  
          You manage to say something about how, you’re not sure what the defensive line is, even, so he’s probably overestimating how useful you’d be, and he hasn’t seen you try football yet, and it will probably be a sight, less impressive, than he is anticipating—  
  
         Once you finished trying to protest (without ever once actually saying that you aren’t interested in football), he takes a half step closer and leans up against the lockers again. “Bro, if this is nerves talking, you don’t have to stress yourself out over it. Football’s an easier game than it looks like, I swear. Why don’t we hang out sometime, one-on-one, and I can talk you through it?”  
  
         You say that yes, that is a thing, that will probably be helpful, in reaching a decision.  
  
         “Cool. Tonight? Dinner, perhaps? I can pick you up from wherever.”  
  
         You’re blushing, while you agree, which is _really_ embarrassing, because you’re definitely reading more into this than he’s trying to say, but then he reaches out and just lightly brushes his fingertips over your upper arms, and whistles long and low. “ _Damn,_ bro. I definitely want you on my defensive line. Dinner, tonight. My treat.” He turns and walks off to class, waving at you over his shoulder. You’re left holding a pile of books and staring dumbly after him, and you’re pretty sure your face is bright red. You grin like an idiot every time you think about it (which is most of rest of the day), and during class breaks, you research football on your cell phone.


	2. Kankri♥Cronus: The Perfect Little Preacher's Son Falls In Love With The Bad Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for alcohol in this story

         You aren’t nervous to start college, because you’re confident in who you are and what your goals are, and this is a clear step in furthering your life and education to achieve everything you are able to achieve. You are intelligent, you are passionate about learning, and the only area in which you aren’t entirely happy with yourself is the difficulty you have in making friends. Which is unimportant, of course. There are greater concerns in your life at the moment, and frivolous social engagements can wait until more pressing matters are taken care of.  
  
         That attitude serves you well, for a time. You do make friends, other students with interests and passions similar to yours. If perhaps they’re a bit pedantic and dull, well. That’s rather secondary next to your shared values. Although you place the highest priority on your education, you find your life is rather bare without at least the occasional social engagement, and so you find yourself somehow at a frat party, nervously clutching a cup that used to be full of beer, and completely lost and separated from your friends in an unfamiliar house packed wall to wall with drunken strangers.  
  
         Although, perhaps, well. You may also be a bit drunk. Or more than a bit. You haven’t had that much, really, though this _is_ the first alcohol you’ve ever had, outside of communion wine. You’re dizzy, confused, and just starting to panic over what your father would think of your behavior, when you find a door that opens into cool night air, and stumble outside. You find yourself on a porch that wobbles alarmingly beneath your feet, and you are glad not to be seeing it in clear light as you carefully make your way to a sagging, battered couch. There’s someone on one end, but you settle yourself against the opposite arm, and after a moment’s thought, pour out the last dregs of your beer over the porch railing.  
  
         You bury your head in your hands and wonder if perhaps you are blackout drunk, or if this means you will be hung over in the morning. You’re trying to decide whether it would be more embarrassing to text your friends that you want to leave, or to try finding your own way back to campus in the middle of the night, when the person on the other end of the couch speaks up.  
  
         “You okay there, chief?”  
  
         You jump and sit bolt upright. “Yes! Yes, of course. I’m fine, thank you.”  
  
         As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see the man lean closer and peer at you. He’s smoking, which, of course, you’re not going to judge him for, and even though it’s still summer-warm and humid outside, he’s wearing what seems to be a leather jacket. After a moment, he replies, “You don’t look so hot is all I’m sayin’.”  
  
         You attempt to wave him off. “It isn’t an issue. I’m just waiting for— my friends to get ahold of me. I’m hoping to head home soon.”  
  
         He leans even closer, and you’d back away further, but you’re already up against the arm of the couch. “You just a freshman? Shitty thing to ditch a kid like you at a party like this.”  
  
          He exhales a cloud of cigarette smoke and you try your hardest not to cough. “Yes, well. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Are you out of college then?”  
  
         He winces and laughs. “No, man. I’m only a junior. You’re makin’ me feel real old over here. ‘S just once you get _into_ college, two years feels like a lifetime, y’know? Lemme guess, you never drank before coming to school?”  
  
         “Ah. I never drank before _tonight,_ rather.”  
  
         He shakes his head. “Shitty party to take you to for a first time. Here, have this.” You’re already doing your best to wave off whatever ‘this’ might be, but when you cautiously sniff the cup he hands you, it smells only like water. You still try to hand it back, because you may be naïve, but you aren’t _that_ uneducated, and he laughs. “Nah, chief. Ain’t tryin’ ta roofie you or nothin’. Just some water so you don’t regret tonight in the morning.” He takes a swig from the cup and hands it back. “See? No drugs at all.”  
  
         He waits until you take a sip and adds, “Well, no drugs except cocaine.” You choke, and water comes out your nose. He pounds on your back as you sputter and try to catch your breath, laughing and apologizing in turns. Once you’ve finally recovered and turn to face him, he looks almost repentant, but still far too amused for your taste. “No drugs, no drugs at all, I swear.” He waves his hands at you and grins. “Ain’t how you take cocaine anyways.”  
  
         You do believe him, but. You’re done with this party. You don’t know what to expect anymore and you want to leave. You think you must not manage to hide it entirely, because when he gets a good look at your face, he stops teasing. “Chief, you want to go home?”  
  
         You sniff, and smooth your hands down your pants. “Yes, well. I’m trying to get ahold of my friends, and then I expect we’ll—”  
  
         “You want a ride?”  
  
         You look at him blankly, because, well. He hasn’t done anything overtly hostile, but he’s been teasing you, and he’s several years your senior and you don’t even know his name—But you haven’t enjoyed very much of this evening, lord even knows where your friends are, and with the way your night has been going, they might want to stay out for hours longer (if you can even find them again). You open your mouth to politely turn him down, and what comes out is, “You aren’t drunk?”  
  
         He grins. “Designated driver, but I expect my friends won’t be wanting me until two at the earliest. If you’re a freshman, you live on campus, yeah? That’s just fifteen minutes round trip. No problem at all.”  
  
         You look down at your knees. “I’d be exceedingly grateful—If it isn’t too much trouble, of course—”  
  
         He waves you off. “It’s nothin.’ Only,” he pauses, “You could pay me back… with a kiss.”  
  
         He’s grinning at you, and you flinch away, because. _Because._ You’re starting to babble some kind of excuse, something about how you need to go find your friends, anything, but he’s pulled back to the other end of the couch, hands raised, palms out. He cuts you off with, “Whoa, chief, _whoa._ Just jokin’ is all. Didn’t mean a thing by it. You take things real literal, y’know?”  
  
         You sniffle, just once. Because this is confusing and you don’t know the rules and you think you want to go home.  
  
         He leans forward, but keeps a reasonable difference between you. “Here’s what you do, okay? Text your friends, tell ‘em you’re goin’ home with ‘Cronus Ampora,’ an’ before we leave, you can send ‘em a picture of my license plate, just to be sure I’m not gonna murder you an’ hide the body or nothin'. If you’re feelin’ extra nervous, you can even text a family member if they’re not gonna flip out on you for bein’ at a party. Or, if nothin’ else, you can stay here. Or, y’know what, I can get you some cab numbers—”  
  
         You shake your head. “No, I think the texts, should. Should be more than sufficient. It’s just—I didn’t even catch your name.”  
  
          He stands a grins, reaching down a hand. You take it, and he pulls you upright. “Cronus. Cronus Ampora.”


	3. Mindfang♠Dualscar: Destructive Romance, Where They Have An Unhealthy Kismesissitude Where They Both Go Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an emotionally and physically (mutually) abusive relationship in this story

         When you’re thinkin’ clearly, you know that this is fucked up. It’s not even about the rivalry anymore, it’s about takin’ chunks out of each other and keepin’ score and getting’ revenge. The other day, you were sharin’ the same recuperacoon, patchin' yourselves up before goin’ to sleep, an’ somehow you got turned around to when you were both young an’ barely pupated an’ out to make somethin’ of yourselves. Your ship met hers, she tried to shoot you on sight, an’ it was meant to be. She sunk half your fleet once, back when it was little and the loss of five ships actually meant somethin’ serious. You cherished that memory for sweeps. You agonized for a whole perigee over how to repay the gesture, an’ finally managed to paint your sign all over all her ships in one day without gettin’ caught by her watch. Your fins were right fuckin’ toasted by the end, but that was the first night she kissed you, an’ it was all worth it.  
  
         Hundreds of sweeps down the line, she’s still kissin’ you, and you’re pretty fuckin’ sure it’s _not_ worth it, none of this shit is worth it, but you can’t stop. It used to be about the pitch an’ just a bit of violence to spice it up, but now it’s just hatin’ each other an’ hurtin’ each other, an’ you’re pretty sure you went far beyond what kismeses should be sweeps ago, an’ here you both still are. It’s so hard to know you should leave, or she should leave ( _both_ of you should just fuckin’ leave) when you’ve still got the memory in you, all fresh, of what it was like before. She might grab you by the horn now an’ yank just to see you hurt, but it’s so fuckin’ hard to separate it from rememberin’ how she used to hold you by the horns an’ sigh against your lips, an’ melt into the hate like it was actually somethin’ worth feelin’.  
  
         The two of you are still hatin’ each other, but it’s only for the sake of revenge and goddamn habit. You’ve been together too long, an’ now it’s too hard to leave. It’s not proper pitch to break her fingers just to hear them snap, but you can’t even be sorry for it when you can still remember how it felt when she took a knife to the chitin of your horns, or dug her claws deep into your gills. Half the time these days the two of you don’t even get to the pail, it’s only about makin’ each other hurt. You’re sure she sees it too, because she’s near as smart as you are, but you’re both twisted up in this too deep to stop. You still go lookin’ for each other, pullin’ your ships up broadsides and headin’ off together. Only you’re too much about the revenge an’ keepin’ score to get to pails, an’ then you’re too wired up on wonderin’ what she’ll do to you next (or what you’ll do to her) to get sleep. She makes you fuckin’ miserable, an’ you hope with all your bloodpusher that you’re the worst goddamn part of her life. But you still keep goin’ back to each other, an’ every time you just wish an’ wish that one of you would just _leave._


	4. Redglare♠Mindfang: Take Back Your Gift Trope, Where Redglare Returns Something Given To Her By Mindfang When She Breaks Off Their Kismesissitude

         “I think you should have this back,” is the first thing she says when she comes up to your cell door.  
  
         You snort to cover up the way you flinch when she drops your old present to the floor, and she can tell what you’re trying to hide, and you’re up in her pan just as much as she’s up in yours, and she might be able to tell how shocked you are, but you can feel how twisted up and unhappy she is, and she knows you know, and you know she knows, and this whole thing is so ugly and miserable that it’s probably good that it’s over. Ha, listen to you. She wrecks your arm and your eyes and your whole fucking fleet, and it’s ‘probably’ good that it’s over.   
  
         You’re getting lost in your own thoughts to avoid thinking about this, and she can _tell_ that’s what you’re doing, so you refuse to give her the satisfaction (even though she knows exactly why you’re choosing to react the way you are, _fuck,_ this whole thing is a mess. You pick up the dagger from the floor and turn it over in your hand. It’s sheathed, hanging on the tiny delicate chain that you fastened around her neck yourself. The tiny cerulean gemstones are still all embedded in the sheath and hilt, and you can feel the engraved spades against your palm.   
  
         “Fuck if I know what I’m going to do with this,” you sneer. “Don’t know if I’ll ever meet another troll so undersized they can actually pull this off.” That’s not true. You don’t know what you’ll do with it because it was _perfect,_ so fucking perfect for her. You’d had it for sweeps, but you knew from the start that it _belonged_ resting safe and dangerous against her thorax. You don’t know what you’ll do with it because you won’t be able to stand seeing anyone else wearing it.  
  
         “You won’t have to do anything.” Her voice is almost gentle and you hate her for it. “Because you’re going to hang tomorrow.”  
  
         You snarl and toss your head. “As I was _saying,_ my next kismesis is actually going to look like an adult troll, not some pupa-sized freak. They’ll deserve a better present than _this._ ”  
  
          She sighs, and you can feel her being sorry, which hurts more than anything else she’s done to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aranea.”


	5. Davesprite: When A Character Looks Around And Sees That Everyone But Themselves Is Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canonical character deaths, and just generally speaking, a sad little story.

          You’re just—You’re just not doing anything. You’re floating here like a useless sack of shit, because that’s what you are. There isn’t anything left for you to do. You don’t know what you could do. You used up all your energy, all your ideas, all your determination and hell if you can tell if it’s gotten you anywhere. As far as you can tell, you might have even managed to fuck things up worse. John dying, you can mostly lay that on Terezi, even if you’re still kicking yourself that you didn’t do _something,_ to somehow pull her attention before. Jade, you know that’s still thanks to Terezi fucking shit up, but you can’t stop beating yourself up that you never managed to find some way to get her into the game, and she must have died waiting for you and Rose to save her, and you never did.  
  
         Rose. That’s entirely your fucking fault, and there is no way to shift that blame to anyone else. She told you to leave her behind, and you still can’t handle that you decided to listen to her. Like—Maybe if you’d stuck around for a few months more, you could have found a way to take her back with you. Or if you’d gone god tier, that might’ve changed up your game enough that you didn’t have to leave her all alone in a dead future. To be honest, you’re kind of hoping this sprite deal has fucked you up in the way that means you won’t have to sleep ever again, because you’re not sure you’d ever stop having nightmares about that. And then, all that sacrificed, all your best friends dead or worse because you are a goddamn _failure,_ and you still managed to fix precisely jack shit.  
  
         Bro’s dead. It still feels like a punch in the guts every time you realize that all over again. You’d thought you were out of ways to fuck up, but ha. Not even close. And okay, he’s technically not _your_ Bro, okay, but here’s the thing. This is so uncool that he would have kicked your ass for even suggesting it, but. You want to just be a kid again. You want to feel safe and know the coolest, most untouchable badass in the world is looking out for you because you’re _his,_ you’re _family,_ and maybe he would have laughed it off, but there’s room in coolness for a comforting arm around the back, and he’s always been fine with his goddamn ‘ironic’ hugs, and he would have let you bury your face in his shoulder and cry.  
  
         But that’s no good now, because your Bro must be dead, and you’re such a failure that you got this universe’s Bro killed too. You just keep finding new and exciting ways to fail everyone you’ve ever cared about. John and Jade are dead, it’d be a fucking mercy if Rose is dead, and you can’t even go to these new versions of them, because they have their own Dave, and they’re their own people, and you never thought that being called fake Dave would hurt so fucking much. So you’re floating here, trying to forget your busted-ass wing, how your body isn’t even _your_ body anymore, and how it feels to touch a corpse. You just float here alone, and. You’re just so, so tired.


	6. Mindfang♥Summoner: The Revolution Will Not Be Civilized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for death and vague references to atrocities of war in this story

        You forget how young he is sometimes. Your beautiful boy, you love him so much, but he wants to believe the best of everyone, and you know trolls. You know what people are. You’re terrified, _always,_ because he thinks everyone else is just as fair and caring as he is, and it’s going to get him killed. He always laughs, and tells you that no, when they’re put in situations, of the sort that you’re referring to, people’s true characters will show through, and nobody’s a heartless monster. But you’ve been alive for so, so long, and you _know_ better than that.  
  
        What he doesn’t understand is that people don’t have to be complete monsters to willingly do horrible things. All they need is a justification. You’ve _been_ that person. You remind him of how many people died for the sake of the empire catching one criminal, and then how many people that criminal killed in her escape. Hundreds, if not thousands, dead, all for the sake of one troll. He doesn’t like being reminded of how many trolls you’ve killed. He shifts uncomfortably and says that well, all things considered, you had your reasons for acting in that way, and really, he’s glad, right now, that you’re alive.  
  
        Yes, well. Everyone has their reasons and that’s the part that he refuses to understand. You’ve killed to save your life, yes. But you’ve killed for food, for money, for revenge. It’s so easy to be petty, and that’s without you being a troll that ever found pleasure in killing for its own sake. Your wonderful boy is building a revolution, a beautiful, mortal figurehead, and he won’t believe you when you tell him what trolls are. When you put trolls together, put them in desperate situations, give them life or death stakes, somehow it becomes easy to justify these unforgiveable things. You’ll be lucky if your _camps_ aren’t bloodbaths, never mind the battlefields, the towns you’ll have to pass through and conquer. So many horrible things are going to happen, and he won’t listen when you tell him.  
  
        You kill now, for _his_ sake. He hates it, but you won’t let him stop you. He’d have died a perigee into this venture if you hadn’t been here for him, and as it is, you’ve hardly managed to keep him alive for a full sweep. He resents it, but you do it for love of him, and he still somehow loves you. But you’re one troll, and you stand against one empire. The last assassin, your innocent boy tried to invite her into his tent for a meal. She had her sword half drawn before you burst in, and the poison on that blade wasn’t something your medics could have healed. The look he gave you was so horribly sad, as he tried to press a cloth to the cut in her throat. He loves you, but you’re not sure he forgives you, and you refuse to stop saving him.


	7. Rose♥Karkat: Due To Unusual Circumstances, Two Characters Are Forced To Share The Same Bed

         Karkat Vantas sleeps with considerably more dignity than you do. That isn’t at all what you’d expected when you volunteered to be the one to share a room with him. To be honest, you’d assumed that he would thrash, talk in his sleep, or behave in some similarly disruptive way. But instead he’s asleep, ramrod straight with his head on the pillow and his arms at his sides. If you hadn’t checked for the faint rise and fall of his chest, you’d almost believe he was dead. Frankly, you’d rather prefer he was as noisy and obnoxious a sleeping companion as possible. It might cover up your own behavior.  
  
         When you finally lie down to sleep, you concentrate as hard as possible on remaining silent and still for one night, just one solitary night. You do not expect success, so you are entirely unsurprised to wake up with your head at the wrong end of the bed and the sheets tangled around your feet. After you’ve oriented yourself correctly and fallen asleep, you again awake to find that all the bed’s blankets are tightly rolled around you. You’re perfectly comfortable, but when you look over at Karkat, he’s shivering in place without waking up, and you feel a twinge of guilt. You take the time to unwind the blankets, tuck them back under the mattress again, and rearrange them over Karkat before climbing back into bed yourself.  
  
         It would almost be amusing, the number of messes you get yourself into, except you are painfully aware that you volunteered to share this bed under the assumption that he would be just as difficult a sleeping companion as you are, and you could not possibly have been more incorrect. You’re fairly certain you’re talking in your sleep, as per usual, and you wake several times more before the night can even remotely be called ‘morning.’ The last time you awake is perhaps the most embarrassing, because you’ve actually managed to make your way from your own side of the large bed all the way over to Karkat’s. In fact, your head is resting on his stomach, and it is a _mercy_ that he sleeps as deeply as he does.  
  
         You’re about to slip away back to your own side of the mattress and pretend nothing ever happened, when you become aware that his hand is resting on the back of your neck. Well. Yes. He must have reacted when you lay down across his stomach, of course, and it’ll only make it slightly more difficult to get away without being noticed. You look up at him, and have absolutely no idea how to respond when he blinks down at you and yawns hugely. His claws ruffle your hair as he shifts, and you are at a _complete_ loss for words, but he shuts his eyes and goes back to sleep, and after a moment’s consideration, so do you.


	8. Mindfang♥Summoner: Face Heel Turn, Where Sometimes Love Just Isn't Enough, Sometimes Who You Are Is Just Fundamentally Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for death and blood in this story

         What hurts you most is the way he doesn’t really believe you’re willing to change. He doesn’t _trust_ you, that’s the thing. He might say that he loves you, and you might have given up everything and sacrificed your own ideals to come help him, but it practice? He trusts virtually any of his commanders more than he trusts you. It doesn’t help that you’re a highblood in a camp of almost entirely lowbloods, and even at the best of times, you feel painfully lonely and out of your element. He’s supposed to understand that. He’s supposed to love and support you, the way you love and support him, and it hurts so much every time you reach out to him and he lets you down.  
  
         He doesn’t even get it when you try to explain it to him. You can step him through your thoughts, piece by piece, and all you get from him is polite confusion that anything’s the matter. When you ask why he appointed some barely-pupated brat with no command experience to lead a raid, when you _volunteered,_ when you had _all_ the expertise to do it successfully—He only brushes it off with a little excuse that well, the guy has a more trustworthy background than you do, that’s all. You’re up in his pan, trying to wring some drop of explanation out of his head, but that’s all there is. He trusts the brat he hasn’t known for more than a few perigees over his matesprit. And he doesn’t understand why you’d be hurt.  
  
         You try to explain yourself for a godawfully long time. That if you didn’t love him you wouldn’t _be_ here, that if you were going to betray him he would have been dead a sweep ago, that your experience is relevant and _valuable._ None of it works. He just nods agreeably and suggests that maybe, you can try teaching some of the commanders, since you have knowledge about how these things work. You built a pirate fleet from nothing, absolutely nothing, and now someone who says he loves you is keeping you grounded here teaching wrigglers how to lead instead of letting you lead yourself.  
  
          You spent a long while trying to convince yourself that time would fix the situation. You—You can understand how someone as young as he is would have trouble seeing how your past history isn’t what matters here, what matters is what you can do for him _now._ You want to help him so badly, and he won’t let you. You get so desperate that you resort to sneaking out one night to catch up to a patrol that just went out. You’re not going to do anything bad. Just control the leader enough to get him to hand over the command to you, and you’re going to _show_ that you can be useful. You’re almost there, creeping through the underbrush, and you have the patrol in sight. You’re hidden and secure, just getting your bearings and preparing to step up and take the lead, when out of nowhere, there’s a heavy hand on your shoulder. With your attention on him, your pan gets hit by a wave of _anger,_ and sweeps of instincts take over. You spin and draw a dagger in one smooth move, and you don’t understand until you see the little details, like how the brown blood beads on the leaves, or the way he looks so small curled around the dagger, or how his wings are crumpled beneath him. Then you realize.


	9. Eridan/Feferi: Sick Episode, Where One Character Is Temporarily Incapacitated By Illness Or Injury

         When it comes down to it, you’re pretty fuckin’ terrified a whatever kinda lusus could break Fef’s leg. But now that she’s all laid up an’ you’re takin’ care a her, you’re gettin’ to wishin’ that it would get back here an’ finish the job. Fef, you love her to pieces, okay? But she is a right goddamn _terror_ when she’s pissed, an’ it turns out the best way to tick her off is to tell her that she’s not gonna be walking for at least four weeks, an’ she won’t be back in the water at _all_ until the cast comes off.  
  
         Eridan get this, get that, I want this _right now,_ you did it wrong, try again an’ be _faster_ this time—You’re practically dead on your feet just tryin’ to keep her happy, an’ all you’re managin’ is keepin’ her from stickin’ a trident in the first troll to walk through the door. You’re half tempted to just call her kismesis over an’ let _him_ deal with this situation, though to be honest, you’re probably the only troll around that’s durable enough to deal with Fef when she gets in a mood like this.  
  
         This morning, okay? She starts pingin’ you before you’re awake on your own, an’ when you finally stumble out of your recuperacoon an’ over to her respiteblock, turns out she only woke you up to tell you that she’s gonna want fresh fish for breakfast today. Okay. You start to leave to go huntin’ for her, an’ you’re half out the door when she makes you come back an’ carry her to sit one room over from where she was. _Okay._ Then when you finally get back to the hive with a couple nice big fish for her, tryin’ to start the night off on a happy note, she takes one look, sniffs, an’ says actually she thinks she feels like having woolbeast instead. _Goddammit._  
  
         The worst part is that nobody _believes_ you unless they’ve seen it themselves. Everyone tells you not to lie about Fef, she’s the sweetest troll they’ve ever met. But once they come over to your hive, they go away singin’ a different tune. Kar got off easy. She just yelled at him until you gently took him by the shoulders an’ walked him to the hive door an’ told him to try again tomorrow. Vris got a palmhusk to the forehead before you could stop Fef. An’ this is just a week after gettin’ injured, an’ you still have weeks more of recovery before she’s supposed to walk. You, uh. You think that maybe while she’s asleep you should spend some time researchin’ waterproof casts. That seems like a _very_ effective use a your time.


	10. Kanaya♦Karkat: I Was Quite A Fashion Victim

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]  
  
CG: SO, DO YOU REMEMBER HOW YOU ASKED ME TO CLEAN OUT YOUR HUSKTOP?  
CG: THAT’S A RHETORICAL QUESTION, OR AT LEAST IT SHOULD BE, BECAUSE I’VE BEEN WORKING ON IT FOR THE LAST WEEK.  
CG: I’M NOT SURE HOW ONE PERSON MANAGED TO CRAM SO MUCH MALWARE INTO ONE MACHINE.  
GA: Im Not Entirely Sure Either  
CG: KANAYA.  
CG: YOU *TOLD* ME ABOUT HOW MANY FUCKING ONLINE ADS YOU CLICKED.  
CG: I HAVE SPENT LITERALLY DAYS UNINSTALLING SOFTWARE FROM YOUR MACHINE THAT YOU HAVE TO HAVE APPROVED BEFORE YOUR SYSTEM WOULD INSTALL IT.  
CG: I AM ENTIRELY SURE *HOW* IT ALL GOT THERE, I JUST REMAIN IN AWE THAT A SINGLE GODDAMN TROLL COULD DO SO MANY HORRIBLE THINGS TO HER HUSKTOP AND SOMEHOW FAIL TO REALIZE THAT SHE’S THE ONE RESPONSIBLE.  
GA: You Know Im Not Entirely Unfamiliar With The Net  
GA: I Deliberately Did Not Click On Many Windows With Tempting Merchandise From Vendors I Failed To Recognize  
CG: YES.  
CG: THAT IS A STEP FORWARD.  
CG: WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT WAS SO FUCKING TEMPTING ABOUT THE WINDOWS YOU *DID* CLICK.  
GA: I Was The One Millionth Visitor  
GA: It Said I Won a Prize  
CG: KANAYA.  
CG: YOU CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS TO ME.  
CG: YOU JUST CAN’T.  
GA: Was There Something You Wished To Speak To Me About  
GA: Or Did You Merely Contact Me To Criticize My Ability To Use A Husktop  
GA: Again  
CG: NO, SHIT, THERE WAS A POINT TO ALL THIS, I SWEAR.  
CG: OKAY, FIRST OF ALL, HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD THIS HUSKTOP?  
GA: I Purchased It Shortly After Pupation  
CG: AND DO YOU REMEMBER THE LAST TIME YOU WENT THROUGH YOUR OLD DIRECTORIES ON HERE?  
GA: Directories  
CG: YOUR FILES.  
CG: EVERYTHING YOU HAVE SAVED ON THE HUSKTOP.  
GA: To Be Frank  
GA: It Confuses Me  
CG: OKAY, I’M ****REALLY**** SURPRISED ABOUT THAT, BUT I’M GOING TO TAKE THAT TO MEAN THAT YOU’VE *NEVER* GONE THROUGH YOUR OLD FILES.  
CG: I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING.  
CG: AND YOU SHOULD BE GLAD YOU HAD ME FIX YOUR HUSKTOP BECAUSE I DON’T THINK ANYONE ELSE COULD HAVE RESISTED SPREADING THESE AROUND.  
  
carcinoGeneticist sent file MyFashionShow09.jpg  
carcinoGeneticist sent file MyFashionShow22.jpg  
carcinoGeneticist sent file MyFashionShow26.jpg  
carcinoGeneticist sent file MyFashionShow31.jpg  
  
GA: Oh  
GA: Oh Dear  
CG: YEAH, THAT SOUNDS LIKE A REASONABLE REACTION.  
GA: And This Was On My Husktop  
CG: YES.  
CG: THERE ARE MORE. MANY MORE.  
GA: Where Did I Find Bright Pink Feathers  
GA: And Why Would I Ever Wear Them  
CG: I’M MORE CURIOUS ABOUT HOW YOU MANAGED TO MAKE A DRESS FOR AN ACTUAL FUCKING MOTHER GRUB.  
CG: I’M LOOKING AT THESE DIRECTORIES, AND I’M SEEING LITERALLY HUNDREDS OF PICTURES LIKE THESE.  
GA: Karkat  
GA: I Am About To Entrust You With A Very Serious Task  
GA: Burn That Husktop  
GA: Please  
CG: …  
CG: YOU DO REALIZE IT’S POSSIBLE TO JUST DELETE FILES, RIGHT?  
GA: And Nobody Will Ever See Them Again  
CG: …YES.  
GA: Very Well  
GA: Do That  
CG: ARE YOU SURE? BECAUSE THE MORE I LOOK AT THESE, THE MORE I’M STARTING TO THINK THAT THEY’RE DISGUSTINGLY PRECIOUS.  
CG: THESE NEED TO BE PRESERVED.  
GA: Karkat No  
CG: KANAYA, I CAN’T DELETE THESE IN GOOD CONSCIENCE. THESE ARE POSSIBLY THE MOST ADORABLE PICTURES OF YOU I’VE EVER SEEN.  
GA: Karkat  
GA: If Anyone Ever Finds Those Pictures Again I Can Promise You There Is One Thing They Will Never Find  
GA: Your Body  
CG: WOW, CALM DOWN.  
CG: WE CAN SORT THIS OUT. I’LL JUST PROTECT THESE FOLDERS FOR THE MOMENT.  
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT AS YOUR PASSWORD  
GA: ‘Password’  
CG: …  
CG: OKAY, HOW ABOUT I JUST COME OVER TO YOUR HIVE THIS EVENING.  
CG: IT LOOKS LIKE THERE ARE MORE PROBLEMS THAN I THOUGHT.  
  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]


	11. John♥Karkat: Parents Walking In On A Couple At The Worst Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied nearly-sexual content in this story

         Funny thing, even if you lock a bedroom door, it doesn’t mean the lock will be able to stand up against a giant crab monster. It’s not a thought that had occurred to you before this very moment! You and Karkat are, uh. _Busy_ when you hear the first rattle at the door, and before you have time to even realize what’s going on, the door bursts off the hinges and it looks like a giant screeching crab thing is about to tear into you with all of its claws.  
  
         That initial holy-shit-monster reaction stops you from putting all the pieces together right away, and it isn’t until you see Karkat go bright red and shout, “Oh my god, dad, _get out!_ ” that you put all the pieces together. Haha. You’re about to get disemboweled or eaten or meet some other kind of grisly end, _and_ Karkat’s dad just walked in on you without half of your clothes on. Wow.  
  
         Karkat’s dad scuttles forward, and you give up on backing away discreetly and just focus on backing up _quickly._ Karkat jumps in between the two of you which, yes, haha, that’s good, good boyfriend—His dad tried to shove past, but Karkat braces his feet against the floor and holds him in place.  
  
         “Dad. _Dad._ If you kill him, I swear on the Empress’s bulge that I will shit on everything you hold dear. _DAD._ This is John.”  
  
         The crab-thing gradually stops trying to shove past Karkat, but, uh. Does Karkat really have to introduce the two of you? Right _now?_ But Karkat’s turning with a hand on his dad’s shoulder and no, no, _fuck,_ you take that back about good boyfriend because noooooo, you don’t want to be meeting his dad in just your shirt and boxers when his dad literally just tried to murder you. But Karkat’s looking at you in that way that says this actually means something, and aw, hell. You manage a shaky grin and a (slightly shrill), “Pleased to meet you!”  
  
         Karkat’s dad stares at you for a minute before turning half-away and backing up a few steps. Karkat relaxes, so you relax, and it turns out relaxing was actually a big mistake because the crab monster back, lunges, and snags Karkat’s ankle. You’re just trying to come to terms with having a one-footed boyfriend when his dad swings Karkat upside down (foot still in place, phew!), screeching something incomprehensible and eardrum-shattering at him.  
  
          You’re just trying to figure out if you should come to the rescue or stay _right_ where you are when Karkat snarls, “Like fuck I’m going to take care of that right now!” His dad shrieks again. “No, fuck that, you can’t make me—” This shriek is loud enough that it makes your head ring. Karkat’s dad drops him down to the floor, and Karkat’s glaring at you, but not in that way that actually means _you_ did something wrong. He shuffles his feet for a second, grits his teeth, and says, “I need to go do something really quickly.”  
  
         You can’t help it. You grin. “Do you have to do your chores before you can go play?” Karkat is snarling something that’s at _least_ fifty percent curse words at you, but you wave your hands at him and laugh. “I understand!! Don’t worry, if anyone messages me looking for you, I’ll be sure to tell them _precisely_ what the situation is.”  
  
         Karkat’s just taking a big breath to tell you _exactly_ what he thinks about that, but you hear a warning sound from his bedroom door, and he’s abruptly yanked backwards. When he trips, you can tell that his dad is dragging him by the back of his pants. He shouts at you to throw him his shirt, but haha, oops, he’s already out the door! You’ll just have to go watch him do his chores shirtless. It’s a tragedy. A _tragedy._ You put on your pants, because you don’t have anything to do but tease Karkat and you have time to put on whatever clothing you want, and walk out the door to go watch the show.


	12. Kanaya♥Feferi: City Of Canals

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]  
  
GA: Feferi  
GA: I Am Aware That You Must Be Extremely Busy  
GA: However I Believe I May Have A Problem  
CC: S)(OR--------E!!  
CC: I can definitely )(elp! 38)  
GA: There Are A Great Number Of Canals Running Throughout Your Palace  
GA: Perhaps More Than Regular Hallways Without Canals  
CC: Yep!  
CC: T)(at does seem to be w)(at )(appens w)(en you let seadwellers design a building.  
CC: O)( no, did you get lost again? 38(  
GA: Yes  
GA: Im Not Sure Where I Took A Wrong Turn  
GA: But I Have Absolutely No Idea Where I Could Be  
CC: )(mmm  
GA: I Think I Should Be On The Other Side Of This Canal  
GA: But I Cannot Find A Single Bridge  
CC: You don’t )(ave any clue w)(ere you are?  
CC: Is t)(ere anyt)(ing on the walls to )(elp?  
GA: Only Statues Of The Old Empress  
GA: There Have Been Quite A Number Of Those  
CC: …yea)(, t)(ose are kind of everyw)(ere.  
CC: It stopped being funny and got creepy after like a W--E--------EK!  
CC: And t)(at doesn’t )(elp narrow your situation down at all does it. 38(  
GA: Im Afraid Not  
GA: I Could Retrace My Steps To A Certain Extent  
GA: But I Have Been Wandering For Quite Some Time  
GA: There Are No Trolls Around To Ask Or I Would Not Have Bothered You  
CC: Don’t apologize for bot)(ering M---E  
CC: I like )(elping you!!!  
CC: And t)(is palace makes absolutely no sense, even for a seadweller, so it’s not your fault! 38)  
CC: Are t)(ere any boats around t)(at you can see?  
CC: I can put an order t)(roug)( online so nobody notices if one goes missing.  
GA: I Do Not See Any  
GA: And  
GA: Even Though You Reassure Me Of Their Stability  
GA: I Cannot Help Thinking Of How Easy For It Would Be For Me To Capsize And Drown  
CC: O)(, I keep forgetting t)(at not everyone can swim 38(  
CC: And t)(at means you can’t just cross the canal and go on from t)(ere eit)(er.  
CC: )(mmmmmmm.  
GA: Im Sorry  
CC: T)(ere’s no )(elp for it!  
CC: I’ll just )(ave to come find you MYS------ELF!!!!!! 38)  
GA: Feferi No  
CC: Yes!!  
GA: You Are Far Too Busy To Waste Your Time On Such A Menial Task  
CC: NOP------E!  
CC: My matesprit is missing and I’m far too distraug)(t to focus on paperwork!!!  
CC: I’ve been wanting a nice long swim anyways, and I go faster t)(an ANYON----------E else.  
CC: So even if I sent other people to find you, this is still the fastest!  
GA: This Is Extremely Irresponsible  
CC: I’ve been responsible for AG------------------------------ES already 38P  
CC: You’ve been wandering the palace, lost and alone!!  
CC: I have to make sure you’re okay!  
CC: (In case t)(at was too subtle, I mean I’m also planning on )(ours of cuddles and KISS----------ES afterwards!!) 38D  
GA: You Are A Terrible Influence  
CC: I’m t)(e --EMPR-------ESS!!!  
CC: I’m t)(e best influence on the whole planet!  
CC: I’m off on my daring expedition now, wis)( me luck!!!!  
CC: <3  
GA: <3  
  
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]


	13. Condesce♦GHB: Even Evil Has Loved Ones

         It is not your place to speculate on the affairs of your betters, but placed in close proximity to them, as you frequently are, it cannot escape your notice that this is not merely a moirallegiance of convenience. You take care never to mention any such thing, because you are certain they present it as such very deliberately. In public, they constantly berate each other, make fun of each other, and half seriously threaten to have the other culled. In fact, the casual observer might question whether either of them was even in need of a moirail, which, you suppose, is a beneficial impression for the head of state and the head of church to make on the public.  
  
         However, you are not the public. You serve your master, and as such, you serve the empress. You are the one who frequently goes to wake them in the evenings, only to find one or the other of them not in their own respiteblock, but in their moirail’s. You have often observed them curled around each other in the same recuperacoon, and have retreated to a discreet distance and made enough noise to wake them without openly observing them. You are aware that the empress has seen your master’s face without paint, which is not a concession you’ve seen him make to another of his quadrants as long as you’ve been alive.  
  
         Moreover, you are aware of certain things that would earn you a culling if you ever dared breath word of them. Memorably, you’ve seen the empress hide fuschia eyes and a blotchy face behind her moirail and a cloud of hair, and you’ve seen your master snarl at you until you bow your head and back from the room, wordlessly acknowledging that you’ve seen _nothing._ On the other hand, you’ve seen your master sprawled limp and purring across the empress’s lap, with her brushing out his hair and caressing his horns and teasing him that you _should_ go tell everyone that this is happening. He didn’t even open his eyes, only took a halfhearted swipe at her horns and rolled closer to her to bury his face in her side, and then the empress laughed and laughed and laughed.  
  
         You don’t breathe a word of it in public. They call each other names, roll their eyes, and any observer would guess that there isn’t a hint of real pale affection between the two. She hits him in the horns with her trident to get his attention, and he ‘accidentally’ steps on her hair as often as he can manage. You pretend that you’ve never seen them sleeping in each other’s arms. You ignore every time you’ve seen them seek out each other for companionship and comfort. You watch and never say a word about how you’ve seen them in moments of intimacy and vulnerability that imply nothing but the deepest affection and love.


	14. Terezi/Vriska: Curtain Fic, Revolving Around Mundane Domestic Chores Or Just Sitting Quietly At Home

gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling arachnidsGrip [AG]  
  
GC: VR1SK4 4R3 YOU TH3R3??  
AG: Uh, yes?  
AG: I am literally one room over, so I don’t even know why you’re messaging me.  
GC: 1M TOO L4ZY TO G3T UP 4ND MY PHON3 W4S R1GHT TH3R3  
GC: BUT YOU SHOULD D3F1N1T3LY DO THE D1SH3S  
AG: Wow, no.  
AG: I did them last time.  
AG: And oh, would you just look at that, I can shout from this room and you can hear it just fine.  
GC: NO 1M NOT SHOUT1NG 4CROSS THE HOUS3 WH3N W3 C4N JUST M3SS4G3 >:[  
AG: Well I’m not doing your dishes, so I guess the conversation’s over anyways.  
GC: NO W41T  
GC: 1 4M PR3P4R3D TO N3GOT14T3  
AG: Okay, 8ut you’re going to have to offer a whole lot if you seriously want me to do your chores.  
GC: UM  
GC: 1 COULD  
GC: SW33P THE FLOORS?  
AG: Right now?  
GC: TOMORROW  
AG: Nice try, 8ut no.  
AG: That was so weak you should 8e ashamed of yourself.  
AG: If you try anything that l8me again, I think you should owe me more ch8res, not less.  
GC: VR1SK4444  
AG: Whaaaaaaaat?  
GC: PL333333334S3  
AG: Noooooooo.  
AG: Look, wh8t’s your pro8lem?  
AG: Dishes are easy, it’s not like you’re supposed to 8e painting the hive or anyth8ng.  
GC: BUT TH1S P1L3 1S R34LLY W4RM >:[  
AG: …  
AG: Seriously?  
GC: 1TS SO W4RM 4ND COMFORT4BL3  
GC: 1 TH1NK 1 M4Y N3V3R L34V3 4G41N  
AG: Ok8y, just on principle, I’m refusing to do ANY of your chores, eff8ctive immediately.  
GC: WH4T 1F 1 PROM1S3D TO DO 4LL YOUR CHOR3S FOR 4 WHOL3 W33K  
AG: Pshh, yeah right, 8’m not th8t stupid.  
GC: WOULD TH1S F4C3 L13 TO YOU? >:O  
AG: …yes.  
AG: Yes this face would, especially since you’re offering to t8ke such a 8ad deal.  
GC: OR M4YB3 TH1S P1L3 1S JUST TH4T COMFORT4BL3 >;]  
AG: And I’m guessing this is also the reason that you won’t come one room over to just talk to me in person.  
GC: 1TS 4 R34LLY GR34T P1L3 YOU H4V3 NO 1D34  
GC: M4YB3 3V3N…  
GC: GR8  
GC: >;]  
GC: > ;]  
GC: >;]  
GC: > ;]  
AG: Yeah, no.  
AG: Not 8uying it.  
AG: I’ll tell you what, I’ll do your dishes on one condition  
AG: Ask me in person  
GC: WH4T NO TH4TS CH34T1NG  
AG: And oh, would you look at that, I’m wearing headphones and I won’t 8e a8le to hear if someone tries to shout for me from another room.  
AG: What a shame.  
GC: VR1SK4!!  
AG: Just come find me if you have something to say :::;)  
  
arachnidsGrip [AG] has blocked gallowsCalibrator [GC] 


	15. Eridan♦Kanaya: A Man Crossdresses And Discovers He Likes It A Lot

         Here’s the thing, you look fuckin’ _fantastic_ in women’s clothing. See, whoever decided it was for women only musta had somethin’ knocked loose in their pan, because you look at all these gorgeous dresses an’ skirts an’ shit, all full a ruffles an’ embellishments an’ everything beautiful, then you look at men’s ‘fashion’ (if you can even call it that), an’ it’s complete bullshit. You thought maybe you were bein’ silly over nothin’, an’ once you maybe borrowed a few a Fef’s things just to see how stupid they were gonna look on you. Yeah, you’re flat all over, no real thoracic chest sacs an’ no ass to speak of, but… yeah. Even then, all rushed in someone else’s clothes an’ sign, you looked _beyond_ good, better than you’d seen yourself look in any ‘men’s’ clothin’ (which is seriously sayin’ somethin’, because you look goddamn _unbelievable,_ even in fuckin’ rags).  
  
          Kan, she gets where you’re comin’ from. An’ she is the best, the absolute fuckin’ _best,_ an’ you won’t hear a word against her. She’s the one where you first mentioned that you maybe kinda sorta might enjoy frilly skirts, form-fitting tops, an’ all that junk, an’ you were just basically expecting another half-assed explanation about why no, certain clothes are for _women,_ an’ certain clothes are just for fuckin’ men, but you didn’t give her the credit she deserved. Instead, she just started all noddin’ along with you, an’ agreein’ with what you said without it soundin’ the least bit forced or nothin’.  
  
          You still didn’t quite believe it until she made you a dress, all your own, with your sign embroidered on it an’ _everythin’._ What did you say? She’s the absolute fuckin’ _best,_ no contest. An’ not only did she give you all that shit, but she gave you a _fitting,_ a real proper fitting an’ took the clothes back for a few nights to tailor them so they were made _just_ for you. You mighta worn them every day for a week. That was, uh. Maybe a thing you did.  
  
          An’ the presents keep comin’ too, even though you tell her she really doesn’t hafta, that you don’t wanna put her to the trouble. She makes you prettier dresses than you ever imagined _existed,_ more skirts than you’d ever thought a ownin’, shirts to fit every possible need, an every time she tells you that it’s no trouble at all. You don’t even have the words to tell her how goddamn wonderful this is, but every time she brings you somethin’ new an’ you try it on an’ spin to see it in the mirror, well. When you grin at her an’ thank her an’ she smiles back, you think she might understand.


	16. Kanaya & Mother Grub: Characters Being Thematically Linked To Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for death and cannibalism in this story

         Your mother teaches you the importance of culling the weak. You fought her when you were young, and you couldn’t bear to cut a single bloom from your carefully cultivated rose bushes. But those bushes grew with flowers strangling each other out of existence, withering away in a futile contest for limited resources. The next growing season, she showed you how to understand which flowers were weak and doomed to failure, and stood by as you trimmed them back from the blooms destined to flourish.  
  
         Perhaps time is what has inured you to the concept. But now, approaching your adult molt, you can see the importance of this philosophy, and you understand the implications of your future as a jadeblood. When you were young, of course you knew where grubloaf came from. It was never a secret. But it took you sweeps to understand that it would someday be your duty to weed out the weakest grubs from those that would be given the opportunity to pupate. That was not something you realized until long after you made your peace with trimming the rosebuds.  
  
         In a way, you think it is a beautiful process. Not every grub can succeed, of course. But you will be the one to step carefully through the hatching caves, the one given the responsibility of evaluating each young grub, determining whether each one has the ability to flourish. And when you decide that a grub will be culled for the benefit of the strong, that death will not be wasted. That grub will carefully be separated from its hatchmates, removed from the hatching caverns. That death will feed the strong, as will thousands of other deaths, feeding and strengthening the next generation, through your own work.  
  
         You embrace the labor. As yet, you are still too young to serve in the hatching caverns, but you believe you will enjoy it. It is not a job, you think, that most trolls would enjoy, but most trolls have never known how to care for a garden. Most trolls have not been raised from a mother grub wise in the ways of life and growth. Your mother showed you that death is only another side of life, and it is your place to determine which deaths are necessary. Someday, you know that your mother will die. But she has raised you to see that such things are necessary, and you will grieve for the passing of a mother, but you will understand the importance of that death.


	17. Dirk/Nepeta: Eleventy Zillion, And Other Made-Up Numbers

arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling timaeusTestified [TT]  
  
AC: :33 < dirk  
AC: :33 < diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk  
AC: :33 < *ac curls up in the spot where her matesprit used to sit, remembering back when he used to actually be around*  
AC: :33 < *but that was about a kajillion sw33ps ago and lonely feline wonders if he will ever come home again*  
AC: :(( < *ac cries herself to sl33p every day thinking that after being gone for so long, her hideous alien boyfriend must have died of old age*  
AC: :33 < *or if he returns he will be a shriveled old man and wont be able to get it up anymore*  
TT: Okay, first, thanks for the ‘hideous alien boyfriend,’ that really makes me want to hustle on home.  
TT: And dick references are always appreciated.  
TT: Also, a kajillion? Not an actual number, bro.  
TT: I’ve been gone for just under two weeks, which is not actually that long a time period in the grand scheme of everything.  
AC: :33 < *ac’s head perks up!*  
AC: :OO < *is this some ghost from the far distant past returned to speak to the living??*  
AC: :33 < *after all her matesprit has been gone for eleventy-twelve bajillion sw33ps, an even longer time than this universe has EXISTED!*  
TT: Cute.  
TT: Especially given that this universe is about four months old, so I haven’t even been gone for more than an eighth of its existence.  
TT: Can I see eleventy-twelve bajillion in scientific notation, please?  
AC: :33 < i can give you an order of magnitude  
AC: :33 < 1*10^infinity  
AC: :33 < thats how many sw33ps  
AC: :33 < or 2*10^infinity years if you want to use silly alien notation  
TT: You are aware that I do want to come home soon, right.  
TT: It’s not like this trip was fabricated out of thin air just to get me out of the house.  
AC: :33 < *ac pines away in an empty hive*  
AC: :33 < *will she ever recover?? will she ever stop crying tears of unfathomable loneliness??*  
TT: You do realize this is the perfect time to go visit your moirail, don’t you?  
TT: I’m sure all that unfathomable loneliness won’t hold up to an e%cessively STRONG embrace.  
AC: :PP < that sounds weird coming from you!!  
AC: :33 < and besides i already did that like EVERY DAY so far  
AC: :33 < now it is time for the tenderest of flushed cuddles  
AC: :33 < and kisses  
AC: :33 < *ac puckers her lips in a ridiculous but strangely endearing way*  
TT: Mm, sounds appealing.  
TT: Well, how about this.  
TT: I should be home in eleventy twelve days.  
TT: You don’t even have to worry about orders of magnitude then.  
TT: What a deal.  
AC: :PP < lame!!  
TT: My girlfriend wants to make up numbers, I can roll with that.  
TT: Eleventy twelve days. It’s a date.  
AC: :33 < Youre really lucky i think its cute when youre obnoxious!!  
TT: What can I say.  
TT: We must have been made for each other.  
  
arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased trolling timaeusTestified [TT]


	18. Eridan/Nepeta: The Sheltered Aristocrat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of non-explicit blood and guts, just in relation to cleaning hunted animals

         You just don’t _get_ her, okay? There are certain social rules that everyone has to follow, an’ you don’t give a flyin’ fuck if she was raised in the goddamn wilderness by a purrbeast or whatever, that’s no excuse to be actin’ like an _animal_ instead a like a troll. Even if Nep is just fuckin’ olive, there are _standards._ An’ would you just look, how fuckin’ disgustin’ is that. She’s carryin’ dead wingbeasts back to the camp, and oh, yes, there it is, she’s butcherin’ them. What the hell. This is like a parody of a wilderness film or somethin’. Who just goes around hackin’ up dead _animals_ like that? When you were huntin’ for Fef, it was nice an’ clean, no more than a little bit a blood, dump ‘em in the water, an’ that’s that. Those are—Those are _organs_ she’s handlin’!  
  
         You are completely at a loss when she tosses you a wingbeast an’ tells you to clean it. Like—Wash it? That’s what cleanin’ is, yeah? You kinda don’t get it because you thought they were gonna get plucked anyhow, but you get up an’ wander off looking for a stream or somethin’. Nep’s after you in a heartbeat to haul you back to the camp and tell you no, you need to _clean_ the thing. Uh, _yeah._ That’s what you were fuckin’ _tryin’_ to do before she dragged you back here. She’s lookin’ at you in that way that means you’re missin’ somethin’ real crucial, and ugghhh, you’re getting’ real fuckin’ tired of seein’ that look the longer you camp here, god. An’ maybe, just maybe, you’ve been out in the woods for less than a night an’ you’ve seen enough a that face to last your whole lifetime.  
  
         She takes pity when she sees the way you’re glarin’, though. She explains without hardly any condescension at all that the cleanin’ for an animal is getting’ all the guts an’ nasty shit outta ‘em so they can be cooked up just fine. Oh. Uh. Yeah, you guess that makes more sense, but you still don’t have a fuckin’ _clue_ as to how you’re supposed to do that. You’re kinda just hopin’ that she takes a hint an’ does it herself so you can stop bein’ so goddamn embarrassed over all the shit you never learned how to do, but instead she sits down right beside you an’ presses one a her little knives into your hand. This, she tells you, is how to clean a wingbeast. You’re a right slow learner, as you’ve never had _cause_ to learn all this bullshit, but she’s patient, pressed up against your side an’ makin’ corrections to your technique much more nicely than she strictly has to. You think that maybe, by the end, you might be enjoyin’ the experience, just a little.


	19. Dirk & Cal: One-Person Birthday Party

         It’s basically all the fun of setting up a surprise party without any of the stress of keeping the surprise a secret. Who’s got one of the two human birthdays left on the entire face of the earth? You do. So it’s got to be a party, and you’re pulling out _all_ the stops. You search birthday parties on the internet, just to make sure you’ve got this shit on lock. Cake, that’s a big thing. Food supplies in a post-apocalyptic waterlogged wasteland are not the easiest thing to find, but you’ve got this. There are birds, those are a thing that still exist. You just have to ease up with the hunting long enough for them to start nesting, and then you can get eggs _and_ stock up on meat.  
  
          Flour and sugar aren’t so easy to find, but your bro left you a good amount of supplies, and this sure seems like an opportunity to break into some of that. After a few days of agonizing over the choice, you even fudge the rationing on the frozen dairy products he left you. You want a birthday cake with frosting? You’re going to get a birthday with goddamn frosting. Your oven is one of the shittier pieces of technology you’ve ever had the misfortune to handle, but you manage to bake up cake without scorching it too badly. Shit’s even edible, which is a pleasant, unexpected surprise.  
  
         Presents, those seem to be the other key component of a Standard Human Birthday Party. That’s another part where yeah, the ‘surprise’ thing isn’t really going to happen, but you make a game of it anyways. You’re blindfolded, wrapping presents using only Cal’s hands to work. It’s more of a challenge than you think, trying to hold the scrap cloth in place with one puppet hand and tape it down with the other. You might know what’s in there, but _shit_ are those wrapping jobs going to be a surprise. You even stash them in a closet without taking the blindfold off and leave Cal stationed at the door to give you the evil eye when you think about taking a peek. Dude’s got this situation on lock.  
  
         Things like balloons, you wouldn’t be able to approximate that without, say, harvesting a shit-ton of fish and experimenting with blowing up their swim bladders or something. You give up on _that_ idea about one fish into the process. Streamers, you can take your baby clothes and cut them into strips. Not the same as paper, but you don’t have much paper and you sure have a lot of outgrown baby clothes you can’t fit into anymore. You leave those in a basket for Cal to throw later. The finishing touch is to make a playlist of a couple good party scenes from various movies that caught your attention, mixing up the audio into about an hour’s worth of solid background chatter. You set up your various screens around the house to show the video from those party scenes, and _hell_ yes, you are the master, it’s practically like there are other people in the house with you.  
  
          Once everything’s all set, Cal get to stop guarding the closet door and throw streamers for you instead. You cook up some of the fresh birds you brought down (and you really want to look in the closet, but Cal gives you the a _look_ when you think about it), and the two of you share a nice birthday dinner together, everything all festive and shit with the conversations all going on in the background and people partying on the screens. After eating, you can’t decide if it should be presents or cake first (the net wasn’t very clear about the order), but eventually you go for the presents. Cal sets them all out for you, and you have to have a quiet chuckle at how hilariously off some of these wrapping jobs are. Shit, some of them, that tape isn’t anywhere near the seams on the wrapping cloth. You undo them all, one by one, fold the wrapping cloth nicely, collect and toss all the stray pieces of tape, and put your presents back away where they belong.  
  
         After _that_ it’s time for the cake. Except for one nibble to make sure you weren’t about to poison yourself by accident, you haven’t really tasted this thing. The icing is melting a bit, because your fridge is an ancient piece of shit, but this is still definitely a cake. You stick a few of your spare candles in the top, light them, and pause your party playlists to play the happy birthday song. Then you blow out the candles, take them out, clean them, and put them away. _Then_ it’s time to eat. You cut one generous piece for yourself and another for Cal. Once you’ve finished with yours, Cal gives you his (because he is one generous dude), though he does tell you that you’ve done an awesome job with the baking.  
  
          When you’re done, you clean up the stray streamers, because it would be irresponsible to leave your house all messed up like this, shut down the screens, stop the audio, and put everything properly back where it belongs. Once your house is looking normal again, you think about heading outside to fish, but nah. It’s your birthday, and you can slack off for one day without running _too_ low on supplies. When you’re finally satisfied that everything has been cleaned up, dishes washed, dried, away, everything, then you sit down to your computer. Cal hangs over the screen and grins at you as you respond to your friends’ happy birthday messages. And yeah, you think it has been a happy tenth birthday.


	20. Condesce♦GHB: No Badass To His Valet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mentions of blood and torture in this story.

         Okay. This is the last fuckin’ straw. That’s it, you’re at the end of your patience, you are just about ready to fuckin’ _snap,_ an’ if that means you wind up with pieces a morail instead a actual whole, breathing, alive moirail… well that’s a sacrifice you are _more_ than willing to make. You can make allowance, lots of allowances. You are a _fuckin’ understandin’ lady._ But that sonova bitch has been stealin’ your beauty products. _Again._  
  
         Like, once or twice, okay, yeah, you _get_ it. That’s just part a sharin’ a block. But this ain’t just once or twice, it’s practically every coddamn week. First it’s ohhh, Meenah, my claws are chipped, I just thought I’d use some a this strengthenin’ varnish. Never mind that he never _told_ you he took it until you’d wasted four fuckin’ nights makin’ the slaves search for it. An’ then it’s oooh, I got blood in my hair at inquisition, thought I’d just borrow this shampoo for gettin’ it out right motherfuckin’ proper. Asshole has _his own shampoos,_ ain’t like the head a the church can’t afford to be spendin’ some money on his own shit.  
  
         Then it’s your favorite comb that goes missin’, an’ you didn’t even get that one back because some heretic he was torturin’ bled all over it _yeah whatever,_ he totally just lost it and wouldn’t tell you. Or your awesome little thing to keep your toes all spread while your claws dry, he stole that too. An’ it was all stretched out when he gave it back from his ugly-ass fuckin’ huge feet. You’re startin’ to consider puttin’ all your shit under lock an’ key, only Kurloz’d probably take that as a challenge, the asshole.  
  
         But this. This is your favorite conditioner, an’ of all the beauty shit you have, this is the _one fuckin’ thing_ he shouldn’t’a been messin’ with! Not only is it your favorite. Not _only_ is it imported from three star systems away (an’ you think the little bugs they make it from are goin’ extinct or somethin’). But your idiot moirail left it _open_ and _on its side,_ an’ you’d bet your whole empire that it was his oversized ass that knocked it off the edge of the ablution trap an’ didn’t bother to notice that half the bottle was spillin’ down the drain. _FUCK HIM._  
  
          But it’s okay. You can deal with this. You could take the immature approach an’ start givin’ him shit for all the random-ass crap he says while he’s asleep. He talks to his _lusus_ in his sleep, an’ how hilarious is that?? You bet you could convince him he sucks his thumb in the ‘coon too. You could make fun a the way he needs reading glasses ‘cept he won’t admit it in public an’ just fakes readin’ comprehension until he can get somewhere private. Or, hmm. There’s the way he spends more time on his makeup than you do, but that’s just a dumbass clown thing, nothin’ particular to him. But. Ahahahaha. You’ve got it. He doesn’t have a clue he fucked up your conditioner. Well. You can just fill that bottle right up with a pile a his shitty clown makeup, that’s what you can do. Shit’s water-resistant. He gets a good handful a that in his hair next morning, you bet you can make him late to church. Pffffahahaha, an’ tomorrow’s when all the newly ascended pupas are supposed to arrive, yeah? Oh my god, the only challenge is to make sure you don’t crack up an’ ruin the whole thing, because this is gonna be fuckin’ _perfect._


End file.
